Echoes from the Wombs of Tartaria — 3

Taissia, watching with an impish glimmer in her eyes, tilted her head and remarked lightly, as though chiding him for carelessness:

“You did not soap her properly between her cheeks, my master.”

Elena flushed, her lips parting in a soft gasp, while Yarosvet’s gaze settled upon her with deliberate weight. Then, as if nothing more needed to be said, Elena lowered herself once more into the bath, sliding opposite Taissia, their shoulders barely rippling the surface. Both lifted their faces toward Yarosvet, eyes wide and submissive, as though awaiting a silent verdict. He let them linger there a moment beneath his gaze, before filling the ladle with warm water.

“Stand,” he commanded.

The two girls rose together, their bodies glistening, water streaming down their thighs and calves, their breasts lifted and pearled with droplets. They turned obediently before him, offering every line of their forms to his scrutiny. Yarosvet raised the ladle and poured slowly over Elena first, the stream sliding down her collarbone, parting between her breasts, coursing along her belly before breaking against the hollow of her hips. Then he filled it again and tilted the arc of water upon Taissia, the stream darkening her hair, streaming along her back, dividing to run between the taut curves of her buttocks and down the back of her thighs.

He moved between them in turn, each cascade deliberate, like a priest administering ablution, until both stood shining, rinsed clean, their skin shivering under the caress of falling warmth. They kept their eyes upon him, waiting still, as though the true command was yet to come.

He offered them his hands, steady and commanding, and helped each girl step carefully over the rim of the bath onto the waiting rug. The water traced little rivulets down their gleaming bodies, darkening the fabric beneath their feet. Taking up a thick towel, he drew it slowly along Taissia’s skin first, then Elena’s, blotting the droplets with a care that was almost ceremonial. Neither their playful laughter, half born of ticklishness, nor their wriggling escapes from the cloth made him hurry. He dried them as if attending to some precious vessels, his calm composure standing in contrast to their girlish mirth.

Before he could finish with Elena, Taissia slipped deftly into motion. With a sly determination she reached for the buttons of his waistcoat, her wet fingers fumbling yet persistent, tugging away the layers that still set him apart from their shared nakedness. When he released Elena from the folds of the towel, she too leaned in, her hands finding seams and clasps, eager to assist. In four eager hands his garments vanished — shoes, jacket, shirt, the last reluctant folds — until he stood stripped of all pretence, his body bared to their gaze, as unguarded as they.

Elena’s eyes clung to him with a hunger she could scarcely disguise, her lips parted, her breath quickening as if she had forgotten the room, the bath, even Taissia’s presence. Every line of him seemed to mesmerise her — the breadth of his chest, the tautness of his abdomen, the heavy gravity of his sex — until she looked almost dazed, caught between awe and desire.

Taissia, practical amidst enchantment, did not linger. With a firm hand she lifted a robe and draped it across Elena’s shoulders, shielding her from her own shivers, before drawing her own garment tight around her slim frame. Then, as if rehearsed, the two of them guided him between them, steadying his step over the rim, until at last he lowered himself into the steaming bath, the water lapping against his skin in quiet acceptance of his arrival.

Taissia bent over the rim of the bath, her damp hair brushing his shoulder as she pressed her lips softly, possessively, to his own. The kiss was unhurried, a seal of her primacy, yet laced with tenderness. Elena, emboldened by that closeness and yet trembling with the innocence of daring, let her hand slip beneath the cloudy water. She could not see what she sought — only the shifting murk of soap and steam — but her fingers found him with startling certainty. A gasp caught in her throat as she closed around him, stroking with a reverence half devotional, half fearful, as though she touched something forbidden and yet irresistible.

Her breath quickened, her eyes wide and almost dazed, until she glanced upward and met Taissia’s gaze. The other girl’s lips curved in that unmistakable, cunning smile — half indulgence, half challenge. Without breaking the kiss, Taissia’s hand sank into the water as well, slipping along the path Elena’s fingers already claimed. Beneath the surface their hands brushed, collided, then clung together, both gripping him, both vying and sharing in the same rhythm.

For a few charged moments they moved in unison, two sets of delicate fingers tracing the same hard line, their touches mingling, their breath coming faster. And he, leaning back against the marble rim, closed his eyes with deliberate composure, as though nothing of import transpired, though every nerve in his body betrayed the silent pleasure of their combined devotion.

At last it was Taissia who loosened her hold, withdrawing her hand with a trace of mischief still playing in her eyes. She reached for the edge of the bath, found the sponges, and with unhurried composure pressed one into Elena’s uncertain fingers, keeping the other for herself. By then he was already rising, water streaming in glistening rivulets down the planes of his chest and thighs, each drop catching the light as though cast from molten glass.

They leaned towards him almost ceremoniously. Taissia dipped her sponge, working it to a soft lather, while Elena, imitating her every motion, did the same. Then, with a kind of conspiratorial devotion, they set about him together — one stroking along the firm breadth of his shoulders, the other tracing down over his abdomen and hips — covering his skin with fragrant foam until the shimmer of water was replaced by a sheen of white. Their movements overlapped, alternated, merged into a rhythm of care and claim, their slender arms crossing before him, their bodies pressing close in their eagerness to tend him.

He stood tall amidst their ministrations, eyes half-closed, letting the twin currents of their touch glide over him: the swift, assured circles of Taissia, and the more tentative, lingering passes of Elena, each leaving its own imprint upon his gleaming flesh.

Taissia’s sponge glided first along the broad planes of his chest, her fingers kneading the taut muscles beneath, the lather yielding under the press of her palms. She traced the ridges of his collarbones, circled the swell of his pectorals, then moved lower, teasing the hard curve of his abdomen, letting the foam slip between the navel and the jut of his hips. Her touch was confident, playful, with a faint edge of challenge — as if marking him hers even in the shared intimacy of the bath.

Elena, still catching her breath from her earlier audacity, followed in softer, more delicate strokes. Her hands drifted over the same terrain, pausing at the swell of his chest, brushing the taut skin with reverent curiosity, lingering on the gentle dip of his lower ribs and the firm line of his abdomen. She allowed herself the smallest daring, letting her fingers roam along the crease of his groin, brushing against the curve of his thighs, tentative yet eager, the thrill of being so close mingling with the fear of doing wrong.

Taissia’s movements descended, fingers slipping over the outer ridges of his thighs, kneading the taut muscles, teasing the sensitive skin behind his knees, and finally circling the full length of his calves. She tilted her sponge, letting a thin ribbon of lather run along the back of his legs, the water carrying it down in delicate rivulets.

Elena mirrored her, though with a softer, more deliberate pressure, tracing the inner thighs, the taut lines connecting hips to knees, brushing over the subtle swell of his gluteal muscles, daring, yet measured. Her fingers drifted across the sensitive crease where the thigh met the pelvis, teasing the slick skin beneath the suds, learning every contour as her gaze flicked up to watch his composed face.

They moved in tandem, overlapping yet distinct: Taissia’s bold, commanding strokes contrasted with Elena’s tentative, explorative ministrations. Occasionally their sponges brushed together, and laughter or small gasps punctuated the steady rhythm of lathering. The water shimmered around them, carrying the soap, their warmth, and the charged intimacy of shared daring. And he, still standing amidst the twin devotion, let each touch trace a map over his body, a living testament to their contrasting courage and curiosity, pretending indifference even as every nerve thrummed with the awareness of their ministrations.

Yarosvet shifted, turning slowly so that his back faced them, the muscles of his shoulders and spine flexing as he leaned slightly over the bath’s edge. The water gleamed over the curve of his buttocks, and the girls’ hands followed instinctively. Taissia’s sponge traced deliberate circles along the firm planes, gliding over the slope of each cheek, pressing just enough to feel the taut flesh beneath, then dipping lightly into the sensitive cleft between them, teasing the slick skin there with confident precision. Elena, more tentative, explored the subtle ridges of the lower back and the curve where buttocks met thighs, her fingers brushing the hidden recess with a mixture of awe and shy curiosity, mindful of the slippery warmth beneath the soap.

After a few measured moments, he pivoted, presenting his front to them. The two girls adjusted seamlessly: Elena dropped to her haunches, her eyes wide with reverent concentration as her small hands moved along the underside, cleaning the base, the shaft from below, and carefully attending to the scrotum, lifting, rubbing, and smoothing, letting the foam coat every curve. Taissia remained standing, poised and commanding, her sponge gliding from the tip of his stiffened member downward to the thick base, her palms pressing lightly as she worked the lather into every contour, tracing the taut veins and ridges with deliberate mastery.

The contrast of their ministrations created a rhythm all their own — one delicate, exploratory, almost reverent; the other bold, assured, teasingly possessive. Their hands occasionally brushed, sending small shivers across his taut skin, yet he remained composed, eyes half-closed, letting them tend him as though each movement of sponge and fingers were a necessary rite. The water rippled around them, carrying the glimmer of foam and the warmth of their bodies, the charged intimacy building with every stroke, every careful, daring exploration.

Taissia’s eyes flicked toward Elena, a knowing glint in their depths. “You’re about to say something,” she remarked lightly, her voice teasing yet soft, leaning just enough to let the comment brush across the charged space between them.

Elena’s cheeks warmed, her gaze dropping for a moment to the glistening water and the polished skin beneath her hands. Then, with a quiet, almost hesitant voice, she admitted, “I never imagined… that a naked man could be… so… pleasant. Both to look at and to touch.”

Elena’s fingers, emboldened by her own admission, moved with a newfound confidence, tracing the slick length of him from below with firmer, surer strokes, exploring the warmth and weight beneath her hands. She let her thumbs circle the base of his scrotum, teasing the sensitive skin there, pressing gently yet insistently as though to memorize every contour. The slight shiver that ran through him under her touch only spurred her, a delicious mix of fear and delight sparking in her chest.

Taissia, noticing the shift, leaned a fraction closer, her movements becoming bolder, more playful. Her sponge and palms glided along the top of his shaft, from tip to base, caressing the taut skin with deliberate pressure, rolling the slick lather over every ridge, every vein, guiding Elena’s hand with subtle adjustments, teaching as much as sharing. She pressed just enough to make him arch into her touch, letting the water carry the sensation, while her eyes sparkled with both mischief and quiet command.

The rhythm between them deepened: Elena’s tentative, explorative ministrations merged with Taissia’s assured, teasing strokes. Their hands brushed, overlapped, occasionally collided in a shared, silent game of dominance and indulgence, and the bathwater rippled with the combined warmth of their bodies, the glimmer of lather, and the electric intimacy of their touch. Yarosvet remained composed, eyes half-closed, letting their fingers map him fully, letting them learn the weight, heat, and subtle tremors of his body, even as the faintest sighs escaped him under the careful, combined ministrations of the two girls.

Taissia tilted her hand, letting a warm stream flow over his shoulders, tracing the curve of his chest before spilling down the hollow of his abdomen and the swell of his hips.

Elena positioned her palms beneath the falling water, guiding it, smoothing it over him, following every slope and ridge. Their movements were wordless, perfectly coordinated: Taissia directing the flow, Elena enhancing it with gentle, precise pressure, the water becoming a medium for their shared attention and intimacy.

Yarosvet remained still, letting the warmth and movement wash over him, while the girls moved in harmonious rhythm, each caress and stream blending into a sensuous, unspoken devotion.

With careful hands, the girls helped him out of the bath, wrapping him in their towels, pressing the soft cloth against every slick contour of his body. They wiped him thoroughly, the fabric warm and absorbent against his damp skin. Once done, the towels slipped to the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment, and they guided him toward the bedroom.

Taissia darted ahead to the balcony, shutting the forgotten door with a soft click, sealing out the chill of the afternoon air, before returning to the warmth of the room.

In the bedroom, Yarosvet stretched out on his back atop the bed, the sheets beneath him rumpled by the shifting of his weight. Elena, following Taissia’s example, lowered herself to her knees at his feet, her gaze fixed on him with a mixture of awe and desire. He extended himself fully, letting every line of his body present itself.

Leaning forward, the girls began with reverent, delicate attentions: lips brushing along the arches of his feet, tongues tracing the contours of his toes, the warmth of their mouths igniting a subtle shiver along his skin. Each movement was attentive, exploratory, a silent offering of devotion, while Yarosvet reclined, letting the sensation wash over him, half-closed eyes betraying the pleasure hidden beneath his composed exterior.

Elena’s lips traced the tops of his feet, then slowly along the sides, tasting, teasing, while her fingers gently massaged the arches and heels, exploring the warmth and tension beneath the skin. Taissia, kneeling beside her, let her tongue follow a parallel path, gliding along the inner curve of his feet, occasionally brushing Elena’s fingers as if marking the rhythm of their shared devotion.

Their attentions gradually moved upward: heels to ankles, ankles to the firm rise of his calves. Elena’s hands slid along the back of his legs, pressing and smoothing, while her lips and tongue worked the soft skin beneath his knees. Taissia’s motions complemented hers from above, tracing the outer curves, sliding closer to the powerful lines of his thighs.

When they reached the junction where thighs met pelvis, Elena’s hands trembled slightly, hesitation mingled with curiosity, but Taissia’s confident guidance encouraged her. Slowly, their lips and fingers moved higher, caressing the warm, taut flesh, teasing the sensitive lines leading to him.

Finally, their gazes met, and the unspoken understanding passed between them. Elena sank lower, lips and tongue brushing along the right side of his shaft, exploring its fullness from base to tip, occasionally flicking along the slick skin around the scrotum. Taissia mirrored her movements on the left, lips and tongue tracing every curve and ridge with confident precision. Their motions intertwined — two rhythms converging, alternating, yet always perfectly in sync — while Yarosvet lay back, letting the sensations roll over him, a deep, quiet tension coiling through his body as each movement drew a shiver he could not fully suppress.

Taissia’s lips moved sensuously along his shaft, her gaze occasionally flicking toward Elena, assessing her reactions. She understood instinctively that this was all new to Elena — that the sensation of a man’s arousal was a foreign, thrilling landscape she had yet to explore. With subtle guidance, Taissia showed her, first with gentle, teasing motions, how to retract the foreskin with her lips, how to let the tongue trace the sensitive tip, rolling it in slow circles. She demonstrated once, then, with a knowing glance, yielded the position to Elena, giving her the chance to feel and mimic the sensations herself.

Elena watched intently, mesmerized, as Taissia enveloped him halfway in her mouth, lips and tongue working in fluid, confident strokes. She felt the soft pull, the subtle warmth, the slick friction, and then, as Taissia drew back, she hesitated only a heartbeat before leaning in herself, repeating the motions with careful attention. Taissia observed from the side, guiding silently with her eyes, letting Elena discover the rhythm, the texture, the exquisite vulnerability of the moment, ready to step in and correct, teach, or yield again as the unspoken lesson unfolded.

Taissia inclined herself ever so slightly, her voice a low, measured murmur, infused with a delicate blend of mischief and quiet command. “Our master is… unusual,” she said. “Another man would have long since reached the limit, spilling himself over us, yet he holds back, as he chooses, no matter how eagerly we work. We must be grateful — grateful that he allows us to play with him, to explore, to take pleasure at our own pace, without rush, without demand.”

Elena listened, cheeks warming, eyes wide with a mix of awe and newfound understanding. The words settled over the moment like a guiding current, framing the indulgence of their touch not as mere thrill, but as a gift, a shared intimacy sanctioned entirely by his restraint. Taissia’s lips brushed against him again, soft, teasing, as if reinforcing the lesson through motion as much as speech, and Elena, attentive and eager, mirrored her carefully, absorbing both instruction and sensation in equal measure.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «Литрес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на Литрес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.